Anchor
by wickeds
Summary: He was comfort in a disorienting tempest, a solidness she could hold on to as everything else in the house pounded into her, a torrent of boiling water rushing at her, trying to drown her.  She'd told him to go away.


It didn't snow in Los Angeles, but Violet didn't care. She turned away from the cold seeping into the house through the window, away from the street she'd never be able to run down again, the neighbors she would never visit again, the world she would never be able to experience, ever. She sighed, and then she plopped onto her bed, the soft covers enveloping her in a whoosh of fabric softener-scented air. Violet was glad she could still smell things. Before her… accident, she had wondered whether or not the spirits in the house could touch, feel, smell, or taste. But, now that she knew what it was like, it was amazing how _alive_ she could feel. She hardly ever felt dead at all, unless she really thought about it. Violet tried to avoid such thoughts whenever she could. It was getting easier, she thought; or, at least, she was getting used to it. Slowly, she raised a hand until it was in front of her face. She turned it over, so that the back of it faced her. She studied it, trying and failing to see the veins that had once been there, back when there had been blood throbbing throughout her body. She wiggled her fingers, watching the tendons dance beneath the skin like piano wires. She looked at her palm, then at the lines criss-crossing from her thumb to her pinky finger, trying to remember which her life line was. Violet wondered if it was the line that was abruptly cut off halfway across her hand.

"What are you doing?"

The voice startled her. For a moment, she'd thought it was him. _I __told __you __to __go __away. _She looked up; Hayden was smirking.

"What do you want?" Violet asked, her voice tough.

She shrugged, taking a step into the room. "Nothing. I was just walking by when I noticed you being all weird with your hand." She raised her eyebrows. "It's weird, huh?"

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a little kid," Violet sneered. "God, you're so _stupid_."

"_I__'__m_ stupid?" She scoffed. "_I__'__m_ not the one who thought I was in love with Tate. That was you, Honey."

"Don't call me that."

"Why?" Condescending. Spiteful. Angry. "Are you gonna go to Daddy? Tell him I was mean to you?"

"You're so full of bullshit." Violet felt the urge, knew she was just a few words away from being rid of this stupid bitch forever, if she wanted. She could feel her vocal chords tensing, her lips beginning to part as Hayden continued to mock her. Violet had done it once, done it to the person she'd thought she cared for most in the world. Surely she could do it to _this_ harpy. "Shut up," she warned, her voice feebler than she'd wanted it to be.

Hayden spat, then left. Violet sighed. She'd been _so __close_.

The shower running, Violet climbed in, still wearing her clothes. She sat in the tub, her back to the faucet, letting the steaming downpour scald her back. Violet would do this sometimes, if only to reaffirm that she could feel. Razors used to help, but for some reason Violet wasn't comfortable opening her dead, ghostly skin. She'd wondered briefly what would happen if she _was _cut, but she never tried. For some reason, she was too scared to do it. Violet didn't like being frightened, but she couldn't help it. Not in this house.

For a while she'd had him to help her with the transition, letting her in on certain secrets, smiling like he'd just indulged her with some universal truth only he could know. Violet tucked her legs into her chest, resting her forehead on her knees as the boiling water continued to run. He told her how to get rid of her demons, to keep them from bothering her. Violet sighed. She remembered heavenly hair, like spun gold dancing in the sunlight. She remembered the gay porn he found when she met Beau, his brother, who he exterminated like anyone would a cockroach. Violet sat patiently as the water ran its course over her body, not moving as her hair became heavy like a wet mop. He was comfort in a disorienting tempest, a solidness she could hold on to as everything else in the house pounded into her, a torrent of boiling water rushing at her, trying to – no, _succeeding_ in drowning her.

_I told you to go away._

Violet wasn't sure if she had made the right decision; she was having a hard time thinking straight. She _knew_ she could never forgive him for what he did – for the monster he really was. Every time she looked at him, it was as if the gilded exterior of an angel was tarnishing, peeling away, revealing the sharp-toothed beast he had so adeptly kept hidden from her. So she'd done what she thought was necessary. There was no way she could stay away from him if she'd kept him, especially if she'd have to spend an eternity in the same house as him.

A quiet, choking sob tore its way out of her mouth, moaning into the boiling fog as her hair became plastered to her face. _Is __this __heart break? _she asked herself. She'd cried the night before, much to her chagrin, and Vivian had come in, had comforted her, soothed her. Violet had missed her mother. It was shaming that she couldn't have realized that until her mother had died. _Like __me._ Violet hoped her mother would never see the decaying corpse in the crawlspace. No one needed to see that.

She tried to stay away from Ben, to give him his space. She knew losing his family would be hard on him, and she didn't want her presence to be a constant reminder of his tragedy. It wasn't like she _wanted_ to see him, though, especially after Hayden and seeing him with Moira in his office, as well as his callousness toward her mother only a few weeks ago. Violet spent most of her time in her room, trying to think about anything but _him_.

It was hard, though. Violet would see something, hear a siren five blocks away, a snippet of a conversation, and she would have to fight an urge to tell him to take note. Biting her lip, she'd turn away, put her hands over her ears, fall onto her bed, and fight her thoughts.

_I told you to go away._

Vivian tried to commiserate, but she couldn't. She still had Ben sulking downstairs. She also had a baby to take care of, as did Chad, Patrick, Nora, and Hayden. Violet didn't want to see the stupid baby. She'd heard it had tufts of spun gold gilding its head. _I __hope __Hayden __drops __it_, she thought bitterly, _or __that __Thaddeus __in __the __basement __gets __it._

She couldn't help but hate the part of her mother that had decided to keep such a monstrous baby. It burned inside of her, an acrid singing that stung, bit and corroded her insides. _If __it __dies, __I__'__m __making __sure __it __gets __thrown __off __the __lot_.

Someone sat on her bed; Violet didn't look up. She didn't care.

They touched her back, rubbed it in soothing circles. She started to relax.

"Hey, it's not that bad, is it?" His soft voice ignited a shower of painful sparks in her gut. "I love you, Vi."

Violet didn't say anything; she couldn't, wouldn't, didn't want to. _I __told __you __to __go __away._

The hand kept moving, kept massaging her through her sweater. "I want to be with _you,_ forever. I did that terrible thing before I knew how much you would mean to me, how much you would change me. You only make me better, Vi."

_I told you to go away._

He laid down next to her, hugging her to his bony chest. He nestled his nose into the nape of her neck. She felt his intake of breath as he smelled her hair. "Violet," he mumbled. "Violet, say something."

She shook her head. _I __told __you __to __go __away._

"You can't be mad at me forever. Or, at least, I hope not." He laughed, his breath stirring her hair, tickling her skin, making her feel so _alive_ that, for a moment, if she closed her eyes, it'd be possible that she could pretend, just for a moment. He tucked his chin into the nook between her neck and shoulder, making himself comfortable as she felt his soft hair caress her cheek. She moved her face so it wouldn't. She stared at the wall.

"I love you," he murmured. _I __love __you, __I __love __you, __I __love __you._

_I told you to go away._

"If we'd never died, I'd be twice your age by now," he said quietly. "How would you feel dating an older man, Vi?"

_I told you to go away._

"Violet." He nudged her leg with his sock-clad toe. "Please say something."

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to throw him off, but she couldn't. His arms were heavy as they hugged her, heavy like iron bars. _I __told __you __to __go __away._ _Why __aren__'__t __you __away?_

She hadn't realized she'd spoken until Tate withdrew from her. Startled, feeling so _alone_ all of a sudden, she twisted around to find him sitting up on the bed, dejectedly taking her in. "I'm sorry, Vi," he choked. "I'm so _sorry_! I'm _stupid_, I know, and – and I know I've done some terrible shit, some really terrible god-damn _shit_, and I'm so sorry for it. I never wanted to hurt you, Vi, I didn't, I don't – I don't know what comes over me sometimes, it's like – it's like I do these things without thinking – I know I'm doing it, but I don't want to, but I can't stop – I… I…" His speech broke down as he imploded into his knees, emitting a high-pitched keening that Violet was sure the others would be able to hear downstairs. "I just… you… I never…" Violet watched as he convulsed with each sob, watched as his hair grew duller. She wasn't sure what to do. _I __told __you __to __go __away._

He looked up, his eyes inflamed. "Violet, you don't know… I _love_ you, so much, I–" He stopped, hiccupped, studied her. "Say something," he choked out. "Please, Violet, I need to know…"

But Violet was mute. She just sat cross-legged, facing him, watching him. She didn't notice that her eyes were leaking until his hand reached out and wiped the tears away, staying to cup her cheek, to stroke it with his thumb. "Violet…" He leaned in to kiss her, to catch her lips against his, her cold, dead lips against his cold, dead lips. But his lips were warm, were trembling, tripping across hers as he stumbled into her, his hands reaching up to cradle her head as if it were a priceless treasure. He mumbled her name over her lips, his breath hot as it washed over her face. _Why __aren__'__t __you __away?_

He stopped kissing her to hug her, to pull her to him as he continued to whisper her name like a prayer. "You're the only thing keeping me sane, Violet," he murmured into her hair. "You called me the darkness," he said. "And if I am the darkness, then you're the light that's going to fix whatever's wrong inside me. I just know it."

Violet squeezed another tear out of her eye as she nestled closer to his undead heart, her hands reaching out to grab onto the only thing that could keep her from being washed away. "Stay," she whispered. "I don't want you to go away again."


End file.
